


Forget Me (Not)

by Issay



Series: Ephemerals [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Multi, Pre-Slash, lots of politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:45:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3166985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Issay/pseuds/Issay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of an evening in Cardinal's rooms, certain flowers and what really matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget Me (Not)

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This shit was most definitely not what he expected when he returned to Paris. Some little court mischief - yes, quarrels with bloody Musketeers and maybe killing one or two - most likely yes, protecting the queen - bloody yes. But this? The Spanish ambassador wanting to kill the king and manipulate Anne... Rochefort sighs deeply and reaches for the goblet filled with wine. It is hard, being a loyal traitor. But, then again, being loyal to the queen and not to the king would be considered an act of treason even without the Spanish influence. That ambassador is just another thing he needs to balance if he does not want to end up with a noose around his neck. Love Anne, no, Annie, she is always Annie in his mind. Keep an eye on the Spaniard, even though this one may prove itself to be hard, thinks Rochefort while touching the queen's letters. And fuck Athos.  
"Well, that is actually a pretty splendid idea," he says to himself quietly, smiling. Rochefort actually felt pretty bad for the Musketeers after Louis' safe return. Poor boys, he thinks to himself, should have joined the Red Guard. But then, Athos would probably already end up in his bed and where is the fun in that?  
"Still talking to yourself, I see."  
Rochefort freezes in place, hearing the clearly female voice somewhere behind him. Slowly, carefully he turns his head to the left and looks at the entrance to the secret passage only the Cardinal and his most trusted ones knew.

"Milady," he conjures a polite smile on his face, praying she does not have a pistol loaded and trained on his head. "You have returned to Paris, I see. Did the exile treat you well?"  
She steps out of the shadows, fabric of her skirts singing softly. Milady de Winter is just as beautiful as he remembers, lips still red like roses in king's gardens and figure as graceful as dancer's. Her dress is all in blue, just like forget-me-nots. Her favorite color, if he remembers correctly.  
"Better than the Spanish prison treated you, I suppose," she answers with a sharp smile on her lips. Milady's eyes sweep the room carefully. "Since you are sitting behind his desk, he really must be dead."  
"He is. Ironic, is it not? The Cardinal leaves us to rot and here we are, in his palace, and he is rotting in a grave."  
"He was a good man, Rochefort. Used us, yes, and left us to our fates but he never said he would do anything else, did he? We knew what we were doing when we started working for him."  
"And look how that one worked out for us," he says with a bitter, if dishonest, smile. After all, he is quite happy with where he is, in Richelieu's chair. "We are still puppets, just serving other masters."  
Rochefort doesn't miss a curious look she sends his way but Milady apparently decides against questioning him. Instead she simply sits down and reaches for his wine.  
"Humility does not suit you, my friend. We both know that the king is as much as a master, as he is a puppet. The only question is - who is pulling his strings?"  
He laughs quietly, delighted by her lack of fear.  
"And you came to ask me? Dearie, you should know better," Rochefort leans towards her, candlelight mirrored in his eyes. "We are not friends, Milady. You can serve me just as you served the Cardinal, but nothing more."  
"You are not Richelieu."  
Rochefort's fist strikes the smooth surface of the desk and she cannot stop herself from shivering. He snarls at her, showing his teeth.  
"Richelieu has failed, you stupid quim! Musketeers are as alive as they had been, your beloved Athos included, the Spanish bastards are circling around the king like fucking sharks sensing blood in the water, and Richelieu is dead and buried. France is on the brink of war and you have the guts to come here and ask about things you have no interest in."  
"Leave Athos alone," she replies coldly, regaining some of her composure. "He is mine to deal with. Mine to kill."  
Rochefort simply laughs at the notion, laughs because it is stupid and sentimental, and Milady de Winter he knew was neither.  
"I will do with Athos as I please, dearie, and you have no say in the matter. And make no mistake, the moment you become a problem to me, I will end you. I am no Richelieu, you got that perfectly right. He let you live after you failed him. I will not. Now, what do you want with the king?"  
He stroke just right, he can see it in her eyes, it is all about the king for her. Milady just grits her teeth. Rochefort always knew how to read her and how to ask questions so she would not even have to answer them. He laughs, absolutely delighted.  
"I will let you go, dearie," he says after a long while of silence. But you should not come back unless you absolutely have to."

Without a word she leaves his chambers, taking the restless whisper of blue fabric with her. She is probably already wondering how to kill him, he knows. But it matters not. 

At least for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Just as promised - it's now a series. Not a lot of material to work with in the slash department but worry not, we'll get to that eventually.


End file.
